She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then
went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp
down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
Barbara's hands and feet.
"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
"your supper: some tea and meat!"
She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put
the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The
maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and
drank the tea.
"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to
starve me!"
The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to
clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with
the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an
evil leer,--she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say
what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when
I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't
surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"my
father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing
to me!"
Marie laughed cynically.
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